There was no going back.
There is no going back.
I sense the moment Psyche walks into the bar. The few patrons go silent and watchful. No matter that she’s dressed down in a pair of jeans and a black coat that covers her to the knees, she’s beautiful enough to stop traffic. She moves through the bar slowly, surveying each table before those hazel eyes finally land on me.
It’s a good thing she’s still a fair distance away because I suck in a breath at being the sole focus of this woman. I was too distracted the night of the party to properly appreciate her sheer presence. Even in pain and pissed the fuck off, I’d still enjoyed the way her gray dress hugged her generous figure and gave a tantalizing glimpse of her large breasts and ass. Especially when she leaned over me to change my bandages.
Focus.
She crosses to my booth and slips into the seat across from me without hesitation. Despite myself, I like that she’s not cowering or flinching. She walked in here with confidence, and I get the feeling that she approaches every situation the same way. It’s too damn bad she can’t brazen her way through tonight. “Psyche.”
“Eros.” She considers me for a long moment. Is she comparing and contrasting how I look now versus the last time we spoke? The only time, really, aside from a handful of greetings over the years at various parties. Even as children of the Thirteen, we hardly move in the same circles. The Dimitriou women hold themselves apart. Another thing about them that drives Aphrodite up the wall.
Psyche leans back slowly. “Most people send an email when they want to meet me. You’re efficient enough to have figured out my phone number. Why bother with Hermes?”
Because an email can be hacked and a phone can be traced. No matter what everyone believes about Hermes, she takes her title and her role seriously. If a message is meant to be secret, it stays that way. Not even the legacy titles can compel her to share a message.
If Psyche is murdered, I want nothing tracing it back to me.
If? What the fuck am I talking about if? Her fate was sealed the moment my mother demanded her heart. No, before that, when she showed me kindness despite the fact that anyone else in that party would have turned away. Even my friends would have pretended not to notice the blood or the limp. We all operate under the carefully balanced lie that I am nothing more than Aphrodite’s playboy son. A little too free with his charms, a little too hard to pin down in anything resembling commitment.
No one talks about what else I do for my family.
Or who pays the price.
There is no room for doubt about the price to be paid tonight. The only way forward is through. It’s not like I haven’t done worse. My hands are covered in the blood of my mother’s enemies, both real and imagined. I’ve long since made my peace with the fact that I’ll never get them clean. I’m no longer particularly inclined to fight that uphill battle for sainthood. It’s Tartarus for me.
I lean forward and prop my elbows on the table. “I’m sure Hermes already told you this, but I’d prefer to have this conversation in person.”
“She mentioned it.” Psyche shrugs out of her coat, revealing a thin black sweater that hugs her tits to perfection. “How’s your chest?”
I blink. “What?”
“Your chest. The one that was covered in cuts two weeks ago.” She nods at me. “Did you manage to find a doctor?”
My hand goes to my chest before I can stop the impulse. “Yeah. It wasn’t as bad as it looked.”
“Lucky you.”
“Sure. Lucky.” It was a sloppy mistake on my part. If I hadn’t been rushing the job to make it to the party on time, I never would have lowered my guard enough to let Polyphonte’s father get that many strikes in. “But then, I walked away from that fight. Not everyone did.”
Psyche takes a slow breath. “Like a pretty girl who asked too many questions?”
Right. I did say that to her, didn’t I? I don’t bother to smile. “My mother takes exception to a lot of pretty girls in Olympus.” Pretty people, really. Gender matters less than beauty and attention, and Aphrodite wants the lion’s share of both for herself.
“Who was it?”
“Knowing won’t make a difference.”
Psyche gives me a sad little smile. “Indulge me.”
I meant it when I said knowing wouldn’t make a difference. It won’t save her. It won’t change what happens here tonight. “Polyphonte.”
She frowns. “I don’t know that name.”
“No reason for you to.” Polyphonte hadn’t climbed the social ladder high enough to attend Dodona Tower parties. Fuck, she hadn’t climbed high enough to do more than endanger herself. The little fool thought she could take on Aphrodite without consequences. Even if she hadn’t crossed my mother, she would have sent someone else important into a murderous rage within a month. She had too big a mouth and too little caution.